


The Fall of the House of Malfoy

by Kinglourious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7966708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinglourious/pseuds/Kinglourious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Dark Lord defeated, and almost two decades of peace to enjoy, one might imagine that there was little left to worry about in the Wizarding World...oh, except the dead are coming back to life, and it looks like the Malfoys may be the only ones who can do something about it. "Well then. We're doomed," Hermione Granger said and knocked back a full glass of wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall of the House of Malfoy

Deep within the Department of Mysteries, down the long winding corridors and through the room of revolving doors, stood a stone dais and upon the dais was a stone archway. If anyone were to stand near it, they would hear a thousand whispers, silent and loud at once. The voices of the dead.

Although the chamber was devoid of air, a sudden breeze lifted, and the whispers grew to shouts. Through the stone archway something dark and dead seemed to appear. First an arm, and then a leg, a head, and then everything. Born from death, a tall man stood in the empty room, looking around.

Behind him, deep in the spirit world, a great turmoil was breaking up the bonds of the dead and the living. Something very very wicked was coming this way.

* * *

It was dark, outside the moon was slowly sinking, he could hardly see anything except the pale of his skin in the mirror’s reflection. It was a little chilly but he had his robes off. He could see himself dimly reflected in the mirror, could see his fingers as they traced over the scars on his body, every scar tightly woven with a painful memory, he regretted picking at the seams but it had never been easy for him to leave things be. Especially after the night he’d just had. How could you leave your itches unscratched?

There were the scars he’d received in his childhood, ordinary scars like the ones he got from falling out of trees, from the falcons when they were irritable with him, a particularly nasty one he’d received from his old friend Pansy’s krup when he’d gone to visit (and that last one was quite strange as krups were known to be hostile mainly to muggles but he attributed it to bad temperament in the mongrel rather than one in himself).

Those scars he looked at fondly, almost happily, as the memories from those were considerably happier from the days when he was a little freer, a little more selfish, maybe a little lonelier but life was easier. His childhood had been quite happy.

The adolescent years came next, oddly enough where the majority of the darkest, greatest, most painful scars came from. These scars slashed up and down his torso and his arms, ripping apart his body like they had once ripped apart his mind, his soul. He could run a few fingers width down these scars, they were still quite ugly, hardly something to admire even though his wife did so frequently. Years had passed and the flesh had never properly healed. The ones on his chest he received from ol’ Potter himself, the result of a sectumsempra curse nonetheless, the marks still vivid as he looked at them. He couldn’t resist sneering a little, it had had to be Potter that left a mark…

The scars on his shoulders came from the war, various witches and wizards, hardly memorable some of them, had left a gift of their own on his skin. He flexed his back muscles, turned to see the marks there but they had faded some, except for a particularly nasty slash (right where his neck met his shoulders) he’d gotten from Aunty Bellatrix when he hadn’t lived up to her standards (thank god the bitch was dead). But really, none of these mattered. There was only one scar. Only one that he couldn’t bear to look at without feeling the memories attached rushing up like a tidal wave. Without feeling the cold hell’s fire searing into his skin as he let himself be marked forever. Scarred forever. He looked right in the mirror, and could see looking right back, the snake and the skull.

In the darkness he sometimes thought he could still feel a twinge of that old pain. And after tonight…after tonight he was almost convinced that he…

“Dad?” He spun around, hiding his forearm behind his back. He wasn’t sure how long his son had been standing in the doorway watching. He hoped he hadn’t seen the scar, the one scar, that his father had never shown him before. The boy came closer, hardly a boy anymore really, Draco thought. He was as tall as his father now. Scorpius smiled weakly at his father, an expression at odds with his strong features, his high cheekbones and sharp chin, the grey eyes and the icy blond hair. A little clone of his father physically, but otherwise, Draco thought, we’re different in every way.

Even comparing themselves in the darkness Draco saw that Scorpius was still wearing his dress robes from the evening, while Draco had changed into his night clothes. Draco’s hair was rumpled, his son’s was still as groomed as it had been earlier. Had the child even gone to bed? No, not a child he corrected himself again.

“What is it, Scorpius?” Draco asked, moving over to the bed to pick up his discarded robe and dress himself. He kept his arm shielded however and he noticed Scorpius eyeing him with thinly veiled suspicion.

His son glanced cursorily around the room, noting the absence of his mother, he seemed to affirm something. He sat down wordlessly on the bed, something that Draco would never have done with his own father. There was always decorum and etiquette to adhere to when Lucius was around but the first time Draco had asked Scorpius to call him Father Astoria had dismissed it as a joke and refused to listen to him when he pushed the matter further. Their son had grown up a little more freely than his father had. Even now Draco could see Scorpius slouching…

“While we were at dinner,” Scorpius began, and immediately Draco hoped it had nothing to do with some girl Scorpius had flirted with at the event that needed silencing or what have you. Draco had no idea what Scorpius was like but if he was half as bad as he had been in his youth, well…there was no point in delving into those matters, he wasn’t even sure he could even give advice on those matters anymore. He could see his son talking and the expression on his face was a little too serious. Draco frowned.

“Dixie and Mopsy, they were busy with the dessert, and the doorbell rang but I was…,” He paused here, and even in the darkness Draco could see a hint of a blush, so there was a girl involved. “…in the entrance hall.”

Draco stared at him, wondering when he was going to get to the point. “I answered it.” Scorpius continued. And then paused. Draco was impatient.

“Who was at the door, Scorpius?” He asked, crossing his arms, his right hand instinctively reached for his left forearm, and began tracing his scar. An unbreakable habit…

Scorpius sighed. “Maybe you should come see for yourself, he’s in my room.”

“He?” Draco repeated, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“He’s in your room.” Draco said slowly.

“He asked to speak to you, you in particular. But you were busy at the party… I couldn’t interrupt you for this. I…he didn’t want to bring attention to himself.” Scorpius was staring at the floor, Draco could see him squeezing his fists, open and close, another Malfoy habit from playing Quidditch.

This was serious. Not just at the superficial level that Scorpius was operating on. This wasn’t merely a mysterious houseguest coming to call, or an old business partner coming to collect it could be something so much worse. Scorpius, Draco wanted to say, we are Malfoys our history is darker than the lake at Hogwarts. When suspicious guests came to call, they were usually keeping poisoned apples in their baskets. “Who is it, Scorpius? You need to tell me. Right now.” Draco said, striding over to Astoria’s dark wood dressing table to pick up his wand.

Scorpius’ eyes widened at his father’s action. “Dad, relax. I’ll take you.”

But Draco had fought in the war. And even though years had passed since…

“We’ll talk about this later. Perhaps it’s time for me to teach you a little bit about magic.” Draco muttered. “Show me this visitor.”

“I know about magic!” Scorpius retorted. “I’m in seventh year.”

“Real magic, Scorpius.” Draco sneered. “Your mother has sheltered you for too long.”

Scorpius scowled, and Draco smirked, “Lead the way?”

Scorpius shrugged, attempting to mirror his father’s smirk, he quickly arranged his expression. “If you can handle it.”

They exchanged amused glances. Internally Draco felt his heart rate go up a little. The darkness never dies. And he could feel it seeping back into their lives. He put on his trademark veneer of smirks, smartass comments and casual smugness but inside he knew that this night had started something in the chain of time. The dinner, that simple dinner that his parents had insisted on throwing, had reacquainted Draco with his past, had introduced Scorpius to his history, and had reborn the darkness into the world they had fought to create. Well, Draco paused on that last bit, Potter had fought to create.

They stepped into the corridor, and also into the fast moving current of fate.

* * *

Astoria was analyzing her appearance in the mirror. Draco sat on the edge of the bed, fastening the cufflinks on his robes. He kept glancing at his wife from under his brow as she surveyed herself, twisting to the left to see how her dress fell behind her. It was a beautiful elven make, and not the house elf kind, made with a green velveteen material, the hem of the dress was bewitched: vines and wildflowers bloomed as if the material was a living plant. Astoria looked like a woodnymph, and Draco was having a hard time distracting himself from her.

“You look beautiful.” Draco said, in an attempt to stop her from preening. She glanced at him with a small smile, giving him the barest of seconds before returning her focus to the mirror to fix her hair. “Listen to your husband, mistress, he’s got great taste.” The mirror complimented, quite skilfully, the both of them.

“Thank you, Kannadi, but do you think my wife will listen?” Draco replied to the looking glass, which was now glowing a light gold to highlight Astoria’s best features. He moved to stand behind his wife, holding her around the waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Draco.” She murmured, leaning against him. He could smell the perfume she was wearing, her hair. “I’m sorry about the dinner tonight… I know you haven’t been feeling well recently.”

“Don’t apologise, this is a yearly event it’d be strange to cancel it now. My parents would be mortified…People would talk…

“Would they? There’s not too many of our kind out there anymore…” Astoria replied, looking at her husband in the mirror. His face remained impassive, but she could see he was thinking.

“That’s why we must keep these traditions going. Eventually…” He looked away. “Our way will be gone all together.”

They were both quiet, until Astoria squeaked in surprise. Draco had grabbed her, his face split in a devilish grin. “Draco!” She scolded, smiling.

“Urgh.” They both spun around, seeing their son in the doorway, scowling. “Can you contain yourselves at all?” He muttered, walking into the room only to flop onto their bed.

“Scorpius,” Astoria said. “You’ll ruin you robes.” Their son sat up reluctantly, and Astoria descended upon him to straighten up his appearance. Draco leaned against the wall, smiling. He hadn’t been feeling great recently, something about the time of year maybe, but whenever Scorpius came back from Hogwarts for the holidays and the family was together again he felt a little better. A little less alone. It was these impersonal Malfoy banquets that ruined a great Christmas holiday, why should they be subjected to the hoipolloi of the wizarding world? Small talk and business, ostentatious food and drink, grandeur bandied about…it was the world he grew up in, the world that was gradually beaten out of him as he grew up, the niceties were a cover for malice, the bravado a cover for fear, everything a front for something else.

“You ready, Dad?” Scorpius asked, as his mother finished adjusting his bowtie. Draco could see the concern in his eyes, he must be looking a little pale. Paler than usual. He nodded.

* * *

“…an I’s seen the Elfstone glow…the firstest time I’s seen that in…”

“What did Mopsy do? Could Mopsy stops the…”

“…scared.”

“Wizards…notice nothing.”

The house elves were busy in the kitchen, which was as hot and steamy as any South American jungle. The aromas of various foods, all created from ingredients magicked from the most obscure locations in the world, or synthesized from the most rare of substances, all prepared by the ever ready, never tiring hands of the elves, Dixie and Mopsy. Scorpius liked to watch them cook. It was his guilty pleasure, despite his svelte physique he was quite a glutton when it came to food and dessert. If he could personify one of the seven deadly sins, his would undoubtedly be gluttony.

The elves were sweating as they slaved over a huge chunk of ham. The two leather faced creatures had brushes in their hands as they basted the bird. Scorpius sat at one of the barstools nearby, watching them work, a fork in his hand as he absentmindedly fed himself last night’s cottage pie.

“Hey Mops, add some more spice to that.” He commented, plucking a red jar off one of the shelves (one of many jars and other containers that sat on the shelf that stretched around a curved wall that took up most of the kitchen, which in itself was the size of his dorm room at Hogwarts. The rest of the kitchen was composed of two huge ovens, that the elves made bread in every morning, two long stone counters for preparing the food, three stoves and two basins) and tossing it to the elf. “

Yes Master Scorpius.” The elf squeaked in reply, just managing to prevent the spice from hitting her squarely in the nose by grabbing it out of the air with a blast of magic.

Before he’d interrupted them the elves had been having an in dept conversation about something that had happened in their quarters. From his minute knowledge of elven culture, the elfstone was a type of clock that elves used that alerted them to the demands of their masters, additionally they would warn the elves if their master was in danger or was in dire need. Scorpius, despite watching Mopsy wandlessly summon the jar he’d thrown at her, didn’t hold much store by Elf magic. He couldn’t count the times he’d been craving various desserts in the middle of the night and the elves had never rushed to his aid despite his dire need. He remembered the time he’d bathed in his parent’s bath and forgotten his clothes in his room, the elves had yet to stock the bathroom with towels and so he’d had to run to his room, through the mansion, in the nude. Where were they when he needed them then?

As if she had read his thoughts Mopsy looked up at him, with a glimmer of a smile, he wasn’t sure he’d actually seen. He narrowed his eyes at her and put his fork down.

“Remember to keep the leftovers for me.” He muttered to them before hopping off the barstool and heading back upstairs into the foyer.

The guests hadn’t arrived yet. There was still about a half hour before they were due. Scorpius glanced at himself in a mirror, one of three that hung in the foyer, all goblin made. They were supposed to physically enhance your appearance just by looking at them. And as he stood there he felt his clothes straighten out, and his hair neaten itself.

His mother was pouring champagne into fluted champagne glasses. She thrust the silver tray onto his hands when he came nearer. “The guests will be here any second, offer them champagne when they arrive.” The doorbell rang just as she finished speaking, and she gave him a pointed look before adjusting her expression to one of smiling welcome.

Scorpius tried to stand a little straighter. He caught sight of his father hurrying down the stairs, straightening out his bowtie. The older man flashed a smile at his son as he strode quickly by. Before his mother could open the door, his father stopped her with a small smile, gestured to a suddenly present Dixie, who opened the door while the family stood by.

The grand oak doors swung open to reveal Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Their blonde hair shining luminescent in the dim light.

“Mother, Father.” Draco said, accepting his mother’s kisses, and his father’s short hug. While Narcissa proceeded to Astoria, Lucius pulled Draco towards the door again, where a man stood that nobody had yet noticed.

“I hope you don’t mind Draco but I brought a guest with.” Lucius smiled, gesturing for the man to come closer, and signaling (with minute gestures as he had taught Draco since he was a toddler) for Draco to greet the man. “Draco, this is--”

“Yaxley, I remember.” Draco felt a chill run up his spine as he leaned forward to shake the hand of the former Deatheater. Yaxley, who had been reported dead after the war and unless he was a zombie, was obviously not. Draco’s memories of him were not exactly pleasant. When he had had to assassinate Albus Dumbledore atop the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, Yaxley had been there, encouraging him to rip apart his soul.

The deatheater had aged considerably, but he still had the brutal face of his youth. Draco had seen the way that face could contort into something violent and ugly, could see the spittle fly from that mouth as a green light flashed. He blinked.

“Please come in.” He shot a glance at Astoria, over the shoulder of his mother as she hugged his wife, her green eyes widening in question. The exchange was over quickly, as Draco ushered Scorpius over to offer drinks. Astoria began leading them all into the living room so they could sit on the couches and wait for the other guests to arrive.

Astoria gestured for Dixie to fetch the hors d’hoeuvres and the assorted biscuits, while Mopsy went to fetch the drinks. Draco was speaking to Yaxley near the fire, the two men laughing over some joke. Narcissa was fawning over her grandson who accepted her attentions with the air of someone who was quite used to being worshipped.

Lucius was sitting beside them, occasionally asking a question when Narcissa allowed him a word in edgewise. Astoria pretended to follow the house elves out of the room, but when the guests were out of earshot slipped into one of the many functionless rooms in the manor to compose herself. The sight of Yaxley had not just unsettled her husband: when she saw the old deatheater she had felt all the warmth drain out of her as memories of the Battle of Hogwarts returned. When the deatheaters had overrun the castle they had invaded the Slytherin common rooms, claiming to be searching for mudbloods and half-bloods hiding in the dorms. Even though they, as former Slytherins, knew that that was unlikely. They had actually come to enlist the students, often by force, and to make examples of the Slytherins who resisted. Daphne, her sister, still had a burn (from an incendio spell) on her forearm. Yaxley had appeared to be a gruff but charming visitor when he requested to be let into the common room. But before he was over the threshold he’d magicked them all into bonds and had questioned them. Many of the students had refused to speak, because contrary to popular belief most Slytherins were not evil, merely selfish, ambitious and a little willful, but not evil.

She counted the seconds on the grandfather clock in the room, listened to the sound of nothing, before she knew it was too long and she had to get back before the guests got suspicious. And of all the guests to be suspicious it had to be two deatheaters she was having over for dinner.

“So Scorpius, how are your studies going?” Lucius asked. Scorpius almost gulped before replying. His grandfather looked calm as he sipped tea with milk and three sugars, his silvery eyes resting onto Scorpius’. Lucius was at his most vicious when he asked about school.

“Oh Lucius, it’s Christmas time, don’t bother the boy about school.” Narcissa smiled, touching her grandson reassuringly on the shoulder. Thank heavens for you, Grandma, Scorpius thought.

Lucius brushed her off. “Of course not, Narcissa. There is never a time when a student should not be focused on their studies. And as a Malfoy it’s expected of you to perform exceptionally.”

Narcissa took her hand off Scorpius’ shoulder, and it suddenly felt very vulnerable and cold there. He actually gulped this time. He was not a bad student, in fact he was in the upper echelons of the rankings, right behind number one, but he was not number one. His father had told him that he must do everything in his power to be the first in the year, not because he, Draco, had any real desire for Scorpius to be academic, but because his grandfather would unleash his wrath upon the both of them if he wasn’t. And what he must do, above and beyond everything else, was to be above any Potter or Weasley, or any non-pureblood, in the rankings if it was humanly possible. Unfortunately for Scorpius on that particular night, he was neither the first in the year, nor was he academically superior to all Potters, Weasleys and non-purebloods. And well Lucius knew this, because it had been this way for years. 

He lied. “I’m doing well, Grandfather.” It might afford him a few seconds longer to live.

“How well?” Lucius probed. Scorpius glanced at his father, who glanced back, a little flash of his grey eyes to say ‘I’m sorry for you, but be a man’.

“I’m still…second in the year.” Scorpius replied, feeling a small shiver of apprehension rush up his spine.

“Still second?” Lucius murmured. “To?” Scorpius almost whispered. “Rose Weasley.”

“Draco?” Lucius called to his son. “Is what Scorpius tells me true? Is the Weasley halfblood really first in the year again?”

The room had gone silent. Draco’s gaze flickered around the room. Yaxley was smirking. Scorpius looked petrified. Narcissa was staring impassively at something on the other side of the room. Lucius’ gaze was unwavering.

Suddenly Astoria re-appeared in the room. “The guests have arrived!” She trilled. Draco frowned, she never trilled. Scorpius jumped up to grab the champagne tray and he quickly made his escape. Draco smiled at everyone. “If you would excuse me.”

The family made their escape.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” Draco muttered to his wife as they went to greet the guests. 

“Me too.” Scorpius hissed.

* * *

Dixie opened the door, and the guests arrived. The sounds of clattering cutlery sounded through the dining hall as the guests ate and laughed. Scorpius was a little tired, most of the night had since been spent on mingling, drinking and socializing, which wasn’t as fun as it sounded. When it was finally time for dinner, he’d briefly excused himself and took a small breather on the grand staircase in the foyer.

A petite girl in a sky blue dress appeared in the hall. Scorpius looked up, and smiled at her, a little wearily.

“Need a breather?” She smiled, stopping at the first step to look up at him.

He nodded. “You mind if I join you?” She asked, twisting her body in a way that Scorpius knew to be both nervous and seductive. He wasn’t ruffled, he had this effect on girls.

He patted the space beside him and leaned back in a lazy way. She sat down beside him, giggling.

“So what did you think about ol’ Parkinson’s outfit?” “She really has become an old bat, hasn’t she?” Scorpius wasn’t really in the mood for a mindless girl’s chatter so he did the only thing he knew would shut her up. He put his hand on her cheek, which stopped her for the moment. “I--” She stuttered. He smiled at her, and kissed her, which shut her up for good.

* * *

“Draco,” Astoria whispered, smiling widely at the guests, she was leaning towards him as they sat at the table.

They were both supposed to be listening to Milimo Fudge’s joke about wands and witches.

“Where’s Scorpius?” “I’m not sure. And I highly doubt that the absence of Logica Burke has anything to do with it.” Draco replied without looking at her.

They both laughed on cue with everyone else when Fudge stopped speaking even though neither of them had heard much of the joke.

“I’ll be having a talk with him about girls after this…” Astoria hissed.

Draco smirked. “Boys will be boys.”

“Not only muggles contract diseases!” Astoria retorted under her breath.

Draco had to bite back a laugh.

They both straightened their faces when the Burkes looked over at them.

The night wore on. The guests, an assortment of wealthy, old wizarding families and approved celebrities seemed to be enjoying themselves. The night seemed to revolve around Lucius, as Draco remembered from his childhood. His father had a magnetism about him, and the crowds flocked easily. This charisma was as much a gift to Lucius as it was a weapon. He was a brilliant manipulator.

Draco noticed that Yaxley had not left Lucius’ side the whole night. If anyone recognized him they showed no sign of it. He was surprised really, that his family could still have gatherings like these. After the war the Malfoys hadn’t been charged thanks to Narcissa’s change of heart during the battle of Hogwarts. Lucius had gone free: literally managing to escape prosecution by the skin of his teeth, he’d lain low through years, moving out of Malfoy Mansion and into one of the outhouses on the grounds. He rarely left the estate these days, and Draco only really saw him when he was feeding the falcons. He’d had his doubts that his father was really toeing the straight and narrow since there were always guests at his parent’s house. Mopsy always told him who came and went. Strange fellows with names like Harvey Dent, the Scarecrow and Jim Jam Sels. Obviously aliases but it wasn’t as if he could confront his father. He supposed, now that the supposedly deceased Yaxley was sitting at the table eating his Christmas ham, that his father had been hosting Deatheater meetings the entire time.

Great, just great, thought Draco, and swallowed his roast potatoes. The Yorkshire pudding looked amazing, he thought, a pity he’d lost his appetite.

Who else had secretly survived the war? He knew most of the Deatheaters that had gone to Azkaban, and he knew they were still there. But there were a whole lot that were supposed to be dead. His aunt Bellatrix for one. He hoped to Merlin that she was dead.

He felt a little whoozy, and he noticed that Astoria was shooting him worried glances.

“Draco, you look a little pale.” She whispered. “Maybe you should excuse yourself.”

He felt a little light headed, and his stomach was churning. He knew these symptoms well, he’d been experiencing them regularly the last few weeks. He knew that he’d be vomiting soon, or he’d faint from nausea.

“Draco, won’t you go fetch my coat?” Draco looked up to see his mother, staring pointedly at him. “I left a little Christmas gift in there for Scorpius and I’d like to give it to him.” Astoria nudged her husband.

“Yes, Mother.” Draco replied. “Please excuse me.” He addressed to the guests. Fudge had already begun regaling the guests with ridiculous and somewhat antiquated jokes. Draco was sure that all the guests wished that the entire Fudge line had been wiped out. Since Cornelius Fudge suffered that small heart attack after the war had ended, his younger brother Milimo had taken his place as the well meaning fool in the community. He was quite rich and connected so Lucius had thought it appropriate to invite him over.

Draco left the room, taking care not to sway as he left, he felt immensely queasy.

“Hi Mr Malfoy.” It was Logica, the girl Scorpius had disappeared with. She was grinning and looking flushed. She walked by back to the table, her dress riding up, Malfoy couldn’t help frowning. Scorpius could at least have a little more class.

As he climbed the stairs he found his son reclining on the steps. The boy looked bored. Not at all like a hormonal teenager who had just scored.

“Dad.” He lifted a lazy hand.

“Son.” Draco replied.

“You okay? You look a little pale.” Scorpius asked, concern filling his grey eyes. Unlike the rest of the Malfoys Scorpius’ eyes, as identical as they were to Lucius and to Draco’s, never looked mean. Both his Grandfather and his father were capable of reducing grown men to puddles with their harsh stares but Scorpius had not inherited that talent.

“I’m fine.” Draco replied tersely, and quickened his pace, knowing that he was passed his breaking point and was about to be sick. Scorpius hurried after him.

The two Malfoys made it to one of the guest bathrooms. Draco immediately retched into the toilet (they had removed the chamber pots) and Scorpius rubbed his back.

“Maybe we should take you to St. Mungo’s, Dad.” Scorpius suggested. He could feel his father’s skin burning hot. “You’ve been like this for weeks.”

“I’ll be fine. You should go back to the party before your grandfather wonders where you are.” Draco said though clenched teeth. His vision had become oddly cloudy at the edges, dark swirling thunderclouds. It took him great effort to maintain his focus on Scorpius.

“But Dad--”

“Leave me, Scorpius.” Draco hissed, swatting his son’s hand away just as a fresh peal of nausea hit him.

Scorpius protested.

“Get out!” Draco growled, and the door to the bathroom flew open with a bang. Scorpius felt a wind pick up in the room despite the absence of open windows, he felt himself being blown out the door.

“Dad, this is stupid! You’re sick!” He cried, holding onto the edge of the basin.

“Get. Back. To. The. Party.” Draco said through gritted teeth. He retched again. Scorpius allowed himself to be blown out the room, and the door slammed behind him. He sat on the floor, miserably. He knew that his father hated to be vulnerable, but he was beginning to worry.

His father had been losing weight at a rapid pace, his sallow skin was becoming a permanent shade of green, he was absent-minded, he was vomiting every night. The man was either extremely ill or dying. And Scorpius was worried, because he’d noticed, that that curious scar on his father’s arm was getting darker all the time. Draco thought he didn’t know about it. He tried to hide it with long sleeves, but every time he thought Scorpius wasn’t there, he was staring at it in the mirror, or he was touching it absentmindedly with his other hand. Maybe the symptoms were related?

Just then he heard a knock on the front door. He was well aware that the elves were making dessert in the kitchen. He didn’t want to disturb them, because, of course it would mean that the food would take longer to make. It wasn’t such an issue for him to open the door himself. It was probably the Zabinis, who were notorious for being fashionably late. If they brought their daughter with them, he definitely wouldn’t mind being the one to open the door.

He walked casually down the stairs, and opened the door.

At first there was no one there. Scorpius peered out into the night, seeing nothing but darkness. The porch was lit up by the perpetually burning torches on the walls. It was empty.

Scorpius was about to close the door again, but someone put their foot in between. A tall man had suddenly appeared there, his black hair long and shoulder length. He had a haunted face, but with a kind of charm that Scorpius found familiar.

“Malfoy?” The man asked gruffly.

Scorpius was confused, no one he knew really called him unless he was at school. He nodded.

“What year is it? You don’t look like you’ve aged at all.” The man said, looking perplexed.

“It’s 2021.” Scorpius replied bemusedly. “Maybe you’ve confused me with my father.”

“2021?!” The man gasped. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you? You’re just yanking it bloody off!”

“Actually,” Scorpius mumbled. “No.” “

What’s your name?” The man demanded.

“Scorpius.”

“Where the hell is your father? Draco?”

“He’s…in the bathroom.”

“What the hell is he doing there?”

“Do you really want me to tell you?”

The man looked irritated. “No. Look, I need help. Your family, as much as I will deny it later on, are the only ones I can come to.”

Scorpius frowned. He didn’t know this man, and certainly didn’t know if he could trust him. It was bloody presumptuous of him to waltz up to the Manor and ask for help. What if he was some mass-murdering serial killer? Some sociopath bent on ending the Malfoy line? (If only he knew a little more about his own grandfather…)

“Who are you first of all?” Scorpius asked, trying to make things simple again.

“Think of me as a cousin.” The man replied, hurriedly. “Malfoys always help out family, don’t they?”

Scorpius nodded. So the man knew a little about his family… “I should ask my father.”

The man sighed irritably. “Look I don’t think there’s time. Is Lucius still alive?”

“Yes.”

“Oh cra--” The man looked a little desperate now.

“Okay, what do you know about your family history?”

Scorpius’ adopted his bemused face.

“We’re the Malfoys, we fought in the war, 24 years ago.”

“On what side?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What do you know about the Dark Lord?” Scorpius frowned. “What are you saying?”

“Has your grandfather ever told you about the people he murdered? How is he dealing with his past? Ever wondered how he got that pretty little tattoo?” The man was toying with him, he knew. But he could sense the man was desperate. Scorpius could see him shaking.

“That tattoo my dad has?” Scorpius asked in surprise. Was this some kind of family tradition? The man looked a little shocked.

“Your dad has one…? Then I’m glad _you_ opened the door. Come on, let me in, hide me in your room or something. I promise I’ll tell you everything there is to know about your family. Apparently you don’t seem to know much.”

“What makes you think I want to know?” Scorpius retorted, as he felt his stomach dropping lower and lower in his body. He suddenly felt confused and terrified and a little angry. Why didn’t he know all these things? The man smirked. A nasty little smile on what was otherwise a nice enough looking face.

“We’re family, remember? I know your face. You’re curious. Secretly, you’ve been wondering about these things for years. Now…” The man paused, knowing he’d won, but also hearing the sound of the toilet flushing where Draco was resurfacing from the bathroom. “Take me to your room, quickly. Don’t let anyone see me.”

Scorpius was already starting to feel something akin to the effects of vertigo. He felt as if he was standing at a great height, about to fall into something that was a long long way down. Something dark, and viscous and something fatal.

“Fine. Hurry.” He hooked the man in by the elbow and dragged him down a corridor, he knew that they could get to his bedroom without his father seeing them, as long as he didn’t take the main staircase. He could feel the stranger’s thin arms, the bones sticking out at the elbows, his ribs. The man was practically emaciated. They rushed through corridor after corridor, door after door. Malfoy Manor was sprawling. Two stories, a detour through the library, and a secret passage later they arrived at Scorpius’ door. The man sat himself down on Scorpius’ four poster bed, he looked around at the Slytherin theme of the room with mild distaste.

“Some things just don’t change do they?” Scorpius ignored the jibe. “You better stay here. I’ve got to get back to the dinner.”

“Hurry back.” The man said. Just as Scorpius turned to leave he added. “Mind if I take a nap on your bed?”

Scorpius shook his head, attempting to hide his irritation by not speaking.

“Good on you, mate.” The man replied.

Scorpius let himself out.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Constructive criticism is extremely welcome! 
> 
> (Also if anyone is wondering why Scorpius is so extremely ignorant, almost impossibly so, please stay tuned, read on, persevere! All will be explained *cue mysterious music*)


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